


Precinct 14

by masterroadtripper



Series: A Home Away From Home [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alberta Health Services, Calgary Fire Department, Calgary Police Services, F/M, Inspired by Real Events, M/M, Set in a real location, Tags at the beginning of each chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-19 01:03:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14863709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masterroadtripper/pseuds/masterroadtripper
Summary: Sergeant James Macken knew for a fact that after three tours of Afghanistan and almost five years in the Calgary Police Services, that no one would love him.Ives Baskivic thought that no one would want to date him.  He worked twenty four hour shifts out of Foothills Hospital for Alberta Health Services.  There was no one that would put up with that schedule.When these two men meet, will their conflicting views of love pull them together or push them apart?





	1. Breaking and entering but with a warrant

“Calgary Police Service, open up,” James shouted after knocking on the door of the derelict apartment block that he and his crew had been monitoring for the past month. The apartment belonged to one Joe Vasetti, the infamous drug lord behind the distribution of cocaine found in numerous homicide cases in Canada and the United States. Outside the cracked and faded solid wood door, Sergeant James Macken waited for the “go ahead” from their tech guy, Jayson Dalton. Beside him, one of the guys in his crew, Terry Hickok, was fiddling with his extra bullet clip, a habit James noticed years ago when they first met.

The radio buzzed alive with the voice of Dalton. “Suspect is in the apartment. Heat signatures in the back of the kitchen.”

“10-4,” James radioed back before directing a message to the other two members of his unit, “Loma, Kendrick, ready?”

“Copy that Sarge, we are in position,” the young female voice of Allie Loma replied.

“Enter on my count,” James said before turning to Hickok, “All units proceed.”

Aiming square with the door, Hickok booted the wooden door just above the doorknob. The old door swung open with a loud crack against the wall behind it. James entered the apartment first, shouldering his military grade M16 rifle. Following him in and covering his rear, Hickok had his standard-issue Glock 22 drawn and held at a textbook-accurate triangle away from his body. Sweeping the first floor, Hickok motioned silently to stop. Holding still James could hear silent footfalls. It was only a one storey apartment and with Loma and Kendrick entering through the backdoor and James and Hickok covering the front, he was not sure how they had not found the suspect yet.

Shots rang out, bursting through the drywall to their left, and then to their right. “10-71, Shots fired, 189 17th ave. Requesting immediate backup,” Hickok radioed.

Tucking himself against where he was sure a wooden pillar was, James pulled Terry close to him. Military training kicked in and James crouched low, surveyed the area and started moving slowly towards the doorway to his left. Motioning for Hickok to stay still, James stood fast and swung around the doorframe, lifting his rifle and firing off two shots, one at either shoulder of the shooter. But the man got off three shots of his own before crumpling to the ground.

A punch to hit gut alerted him that something was wrong. It felt like he was in training and someone landed a cheap shot between his ribcage and hip bone. It was a bullet. He didn’t know where it hit him, but it didn’t hit his bullet proof vest. Warmth spread from his abdomen up, followed by the splintering pain.

He had been shot at before, but most times, the bullets just hit his vest. Except that one time, back in Afghanistan, when the bullet nicked his heart. Before he could finish his memory, James collapsed against the wall. He saw Hickok kick the gun away from the shooter before turning to face him.

“Hey, hey, Macken, stay with me,” Hickok shouted before leaning into his radio and saying, “10-00, 10-00, Officer down, roll the ambulance!” The world was getting fuzzy around the edges and the pain seemed to be receding with the blur in his eyes. _Stay awake James_ , he told himself,  _don’t succumb to the pain_. But it was too late. The world turned black.


	2. 10-00, Officer Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Ives' perspective

When he was told that they were on police duty for the first part of their shift, Ives could not help but wonder what that meant. He had only been on the job for two months, after graduating from the Southern Alberta Institute of Technology with a EMT degree in the summer. Curtis Fowler, his seasoned, aging, paramedic coworker just grumbled at the notion of having to cooperate with the police for at least a few hours. When he asked why, Fowler replied, “Baskivic, if you think it is fun sitting in the ambo for who knows how long waiting for someone to get shot, you are insane.”

A half-hour into their stake-out and Ives was so bored he was reading the dosage amounts off the tiny bottles of motrin they had in the supply cabinet. Fowler was reading the now four day old newspaper he kept in the aging Alberta Health Services based ambulance for just the occasion. The area of town was older, with lots of new developments interspersed with decrepit and rundown houses from the turn of the century and apartments from before Ives was born.

The Captain - Hubbart, Ives seemed to think his name was - had given them a map that morning at the 14th District Precinct. The older man, but still younger than Fowler, had told them where to park and wait till they are needed and where to go in the case they are needed. Ives took one look at it before passing it to Fowler.

Currently, if his photographic memory served him right (it had never let him down in the past) Fowler had parked Ambulance 2314 a solid four blocks from the star Captain Hubbart had drawn on the map. The worst park was that Ives was sure Fowler didn’t even know he wasn’t where he was supposed to be.

“10-00, 10-00, Officer down, roll the ambulance!” A voice shouted over their radio, which the tech guy from the 14th Precinct linked to them this morning.

“Lets go, lets go!” Ives shouted, slamming the the meds cabinet closed and returning to his seat. Fowler powered up the ambo and hit the lights. Approaching a crossroads, Ives looked at the cross streets and found that they were, in fact, almost five blocks from where Captain Hubbart had asked them to be. Finding their location on the map was simple and Ives was able to direct Fowler to a shady apartment complex with three black Ford Tauruses parked in front.

Slamming the ambo into park, Ives stood from his seat and opened the the jump door. Pulling out the burgundy jump bag and stretcher, Ives ran towards the front of the apartment where a young, pale man with a Calgary Police Service badge hanging from his neck was waiting for him. The guy in the burgundy hoodie was definitely too thin to be a detective, but had a badge, just like Ives, so he figured, follow him.

“We cleared the building, suspect shot one of our own,” the young officer said and led the way through the building at a speed just slower than running with Ives and Fowler in tow. A blond man in a Calgary Police Service bullet proof vest was crouched over another man. The blond detective was in a tee-shirt and had blood caked up his arms, which were pressed firmly into the other detective’s gut. The bullet missed the vest.

“Is he conscious?” Ives said going down on a knee and opening the jump bag.

“He was, just went under. Still making noise though. Raspy, but not with fluid.”

 _Semi-conscious and breathing_.

No immediate problems with lungs. Pulling gauze out of the bag, Ives passed it to the detective and said, “apply pressure on this.”

“Baskivic, we’re going to need to intubate. Breathing is becoming erratic,” Fowler reported before grabbing the necessary tools and setting to work shoving a plastic tube down the detective’s throat. Taking a roll of gauze, Ives leaned over the detective and started wrapping the stretchy material around his gut.

“Intubation successful,” Fowler reported before saying, “we gotta get this guy to Foothills, he’s dropping quick.” Finishing off his bandage, Ives grabbed the stretcher and wheeled it towards them. With the help of the blond detective, they got the injured officer onto the stretcher and out to the ambo. Outside more marked CPS cars had arrived with one officer preparing to escort them through the thick traffic on Highway One. Climbing into the driver's seat, Ives slammed the ambo into drive and took off behind the police car, lights and sirens maxed out.

**Author's Note:**

> Just so everyone is clear, there are no people in this novel based on a real person. Every character is of my own creation and any views I express do not reflect the Calgary Police Services, Alberta Health Services or Calgary Fire Department, .
> 
> In Calgary, there is a police station number 14 however, the Precinct in this story is actually not in the same location. The real precinct is in the middle of a residential area. If you were to search for the precinct where is says it is in this story, you would find a Chinese food takeout place.
> 
> I am not a police officer and I am not claiming that any procedures are accurate, please take all policing things with a grain of salt. I tried to be accurate based on the info I found on the internet.


End file.
